


Pins & Needles

by yeska_noka



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mild Blood, Mild S&M, Needles, S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-01 20:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10929489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeska_noka/pseuds/yeska_noka
Summary: Nikaido likes it when Senga makes him scream.





	Pins & Needles

**Author's Note:**

> I completely understand if you want to give this one a pass. To be honest, I don't know if I'd ever click on a fic with these types of warnings. However, I would like to point out that this is not darkfic. It's fairly comfortable and happy with minimal angst. It's just very kinky. A big thank you to beltenebra for the beta. It's definitely my first time writing anything remotely like this.

Realization was a slow process. There was no light bulb moment for Senga, only a strung-out series of incidents spanning the length of their relationship, but when he finally confirmed his suspicions, it was still shocking enough to steal his breath away.

Nikaido gets off on pain.

It started out innocently enough - a few love bites here, some scratching there - that Senga didn’t even notice at first. He’d left his fair share of marks on Nikaido’s body, bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood, held on tight enough to leave thumb-sized bruises on his hips. Nikaido blamed his cracked lip on the dry winter air, his bruises on skate ramp accidents, but Senga knew the truth and was reminded of it every time he looked at him.

They were always accidents at first, roughness in a moment of passion, and Senga didn’t think much about it. He’d woken up to find scratch marks down his back and it hadn’t struck him as anything unusual. Things like that happened when sex was as intense as theirs.

But over time, Senga began to notice that Nikaido carried many more marks than he did, and more often. They were still generally small enough to hide or easily explain away, but Senga knew they were there and started paying attention. He found himself more aware of his actions, wondering even as he nipped at the skin behind Nikaido’s ear if it would leave a mark and biting down harder to ensure that it would. Nikaido jerked in his arms, crying out, but didn’t push him away.

Ideas began to form in Senga’s head.

His actions became purposeful as he calculated different spots and locations, different methods, sucking, biting, pinching, just hard enough to make a longer-lasting mark on Nikaido’s skin. He found that he liked it, and that even more than enjoying the signs that visibly showed Nikaido was his, he liked the way Nikaido cried out as he made them, the way his body jerked and shivered in reaction to Senga’s efforts. He liked the way Nikaido’s voice sent echoing shivers through his own body.

And so he kept doing it, more often and harder, because he could and because Nikaido let him. It bothered Senga a little, taking such pleasure in Nikaido’s pain. It made him feel guilty that his orgasms were that much better when he was hurting someone he loved. And he wondered why Nikaido allowed it, and how far he could push, until he realized that Nikaido wasn’t just allowing it.

He was _enjoying_ it.

Or was he? Senga started focusing more carefully on Nikaido’s reactions. Senga knew how Nikaido reacted and enjoyed those reactions, but discovered that he didn’t really know what they meant. Was he confusing cries of pleasure and cries of pain? Maybe he wasn’t really hurting Nikaido after all. Senga wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

But, as he paid closer attention, Senga knew he hadn’t been mistaken. The way Nikaido flinched, the way he winced and grimaced and gasped, it spoke of nothing but pain. And yet his erection never flagged, stood hard and dripping even as Senga left a scatter of teeth marks across Nikaido’s inner thigh, biting down nearly hard enough to break skin. When Senga slid back up his body, he could see that Nikaido had tear tracks tracing a path from the corners of his tightly-shut eyes down into his hairline. _Why doesn’t he stop me_ , Senga thought. _Why does he let me do this to him?_ But even as he thought it, Nikaido rocked up against him and Senga could feel the spread of wet heat between their stomachs as Nikaido came. _Oh god, we need to talk about this_ , Senga thought, but said nothing, gathering Nikaido close and holding him as he shook and gasped for air.

But how do you bring up something like that? Senga had no idea how to even begin the conversation. Every time he tried, he ended up changing the subject, feeling too awkward to face their reality.

Until it was facing him. Until Nikaido grunted as Senga pinched his nipple, digging his nails in, and Senga watched as Nikaido’s fingers curled tight against the sheets.

“You like this,” Senga said out loud, surprising himself. He waited for Nikaido to open his eyes and he saw the question in them. “You like it when I hurt you.”

Nikaido immediately flushed bright red, but when he opened his mouth it wasn’t the denial Senga expected.

“ _Yes_ ,” Nikaido whispered, nearly inaudible.

Senga shook his head in disbelief, even though he had already known it was true. He had trouble finding enough air to speak. “ _Why_?”

Nikaido closed his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

But then he opened his eyes and looked straight at Senga. “Why do you like hurting me?”

It sounded so much worse said aloud, Senga thought. What kind of awful person am I? But all he said was an echo of Nikaido’s words: “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

They looked at each other steadily, and slowly, a small smile lifted the corners of Nikaido’s mouth.

“How did we get like this,” Senga asked.

“Does it matter,” Nikaido replied, and “Do you mind?”

“No,” Senga said. “N...no. Not if you don’t. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I don’t mind,” Nikaido told him, and pulled Senga’s hand back to his chest, actions clear, and words even clearer. “I want you to.”

They talked about it a lot more after that, about what they each wanted and liked and didn’t. Nikaido spent hours researching on the internet. Maybe what they had between them wasn’t so common, but neither were they alone. They found advice and ideas and grew comfortable with themselves.

But even all these months later, Senga still can’t believe that Nikaido has agreed to his plan - has helped him figure out the details, even. It’s taken a few weeks to properly prepare, both in terms of research and of acquiring the necessary supplies, and Senga still feels rather nervous about the whole thing. Excited, but nervous, and his hands shake as he places the box of needles on the floor next to the futon. They’re tiny, a fine gauge, made for acupuncture.

They both sit down, nude, on the futon. “Give me your arm,” Senga instructs, and Nikaido calmly holds out his arm, resting his elbow across Senga’s knee. He watches silently, trusting, although Senga can see the more rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Senga grabs a cotton pad and presses it to the top of the alcohol container, pumping down once to soak it in liquid. He swipes a patch on the top of Nikaido’s forearm and drops the cotton into the small plastic bin next to them, opening the acupuncture box and picking up one of the needles instead.

Senga pauses. “Nika, are you really sure about this?”

“Yes,” Nikaido says simply.

Senga took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes.”

Just as they’d researched, Senga lays the needle nearly flat against Nikaido’s arm, and very carefully slides it under his skin. He hears Nikaido hiss, but doesn’t look up, slowly angling and pushing the needle until the tip pokes free. He remains still for a moment, and then lets go, staring at the slim metal woven through Nikaido’s skin.

“H-how is it?” Senga asks, having to clear his throat before he can speak.

Nikaido shakes his head when Senga looks up at him. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s just a small pinch going in and out. Less than when having blood drawn or anything.”

Senga traces a finger across Nikaido’s arm, feeling the slight bump of the needle shaft beneath the skin. Goosebumps break out across Nikaido’s arm in his wake.

“That feels weird,” Nikaido says.

“Bad?”

“No, just weird.”

It’s not that Nikaido likes pain in general - he most definitely doesn’t, as Senga well knows. Having even a small needle stuck in his arm can’t be the most pleasant experience. But they’re hoping that later it will be.

“Let me take it out,” Senga says, and he removes it just as they’ve studied, dropping the needle into the trash bin and pressing a finger to Nikaido’s arm. After a few seconds Senga pulls away, and only one tiny dot of blood wells up, swiped away easily with another cotton pad, and then Nikaido’s skin looks unmarked.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Are you ready for this,” Senga asks, and Nikaido nods in response and then leans forward to kiss him.

Senga is still shaking slightly, but it’s more anticipation than nerves now. The thought of all that metal marring Nikaido’s pretty skin...

Senga pulls Nikaido closer with a firm grip on his biceps and kisses him harder. He tightens his grip, not enough to bruise, not there where it’ll be visible, but it’s enough to make Nikaido give an acknowledging murmur against his lips.

One of the things that Senga likes is that Nikaido isn’t passive in their relationship. If Senga does nothing, Nikaido will take the lead, doing as he pleases as long as Senga lets him. Despite Senga’s hold on him, Nikaido is the one to topple them to the futon. He gives as good as he gets (when he wants to, although not in terms of pain, because Senga doesn’t go for that), touching and teasing and generally making Senga feel like his whole body is on fire.

Nikaido lifts his head as soon as Senga touches his shoulder. “Nika, I can’t...” If he lets Nikaido continue, Senga will lose it before they manage to get anywhere, and Nikaido won’t really be satisfied with that.

“Okay,” Nikaido says agreeably. “What do you want me to do?”

“Can you get on your hands and knees,” Senga asks. He never really demands things from Nikaido - he doesn’t need to.

Senga gets everything ready as Nikaido repositions himself, soaking a cotton pad with alcohol. He swipes the cotton across the backs of Nikaido’s thighs, covering a generous area and leaving Nikaido shivering as the liquid evaporates. Senga waits until Nikaido’s tremors die down, until he can be sure that his own hands are steady, and then smoothes one hand across Nikaido’s lower back in warning, an unusually gentle gesture for him.

Senga scores an invisible line across the back of Nikaido’s thigh with a fingernail so that Nikaido can feel exactly where Senga intends to insert the metal. After a moment, Senga places the first needle carefully against Nikaido’s skin.

“Ready?”

Nikaido nods and then sucks in a breath, releasing it shakily once Senga pulls his hands away. Senga eyes the needle, a small metal line laced through Nikaido’s skin mid-way up his thigh, and then asks if Nikaido is okay.

“Ow,” Nikaido replies, so delayed as to be meaningless, and Senga chuckles.

“Uh-huh.”

Senga slides the second needle into Nikaido’s other leg, in line with the first, and wonders if he’ll have the patience for this after all. Nikaido is so perfectly positioned and inviting that Senga debates just taking him then and there. He holds himself back, not wanting to ruin weeks of planning.

He alternates back and forth between legs, slowing working his way upward little by little, working hard to control his breathing and to keep his hands steady, although he gets increasingly aroused with each insertion and it’s nearly impossible to concentrate. Nikaido’s cock is already hanging heavy between his legs, a small wet spot where pre-come has dripped onto the futon below him. His breathing sounds labored, but Senga won’t stop unless Nikaido tells him to, and Nikaido doesn’t.

Senga sits back to admire his work after he weaves in the last needle, high up on Nikaido’s thigh. The needles make two straight lines up his legs, from mid-thighs to just below Nikaido’s butt cheeks, looking like little ladders or zippers or railroad tracks. Fascinated, Senga trails his index fingers down the center of each, feeling the bumps of metal just beneath the skin. Nikaido cries out and shudders violently. Senga grins.

It’s so hard not to just shove right into him, but with the needles lacing Nikaido’s skin, it wouldn’t be safe. Instead he traces lube across Nikaido’s hole, picking up one of their medium-sized dildos and using the tip to draw circles around the edges of the sensitive skin. Then, without giving Nikaido any warning, he lets the tip slip right into the center and pushes hard. Nikaido jerks and screams, the sound cutting off abruptly as his voice cracks, and the futon beneath him is suddenly splattered with come. Other than a brief smile that Nikaido can’t see, Senga ignores this, shoving the dildo in further.

Nikaido doesn’t scream again, but a harsh sob is nearly as satisfying, Senga notes, and pulls the toy all the way out, just to push it back in again, fucking Nikaido with strong, deep strokes. He waits until Nikaido’s voice is rough and considers just giving up and fucking his mouth until it’s entirely gone.

But that doesn’t go along with his plan, and so Senga grits his teeth against his own arousal and removes the dildo, setting it aside. He presses a finger to one of the needles and, with a swift motion, pulls it out with his other hand and drops it into the nearby trash. Nikaido whimpers. Senga continues, and the removal process is much faster than putting them in, but nearly as fun. Senga delights at the multiple tiny red dots that blossom along in the wake of the needles, leaving a somewhat less uniform path along Nikaido’s legs.

Nikaido is hard again by the time Senga drops the final bit of metal into the bin and Senga wastes no more time. He grabs Nikaido roughly by the hips and slams inside, his groan of relief even louder than Nikaido’s. Nikaido is too hot and tight around him for Senga to fight it for long, and so he makes sure that every thrust pushes his thighs as tightly to the back of Nikaido’s as he can. He’s sure the skin is overly sensitive, and maybe he’s not wrong. Nikaido tightens even further around him and Senga reaches the end of his patience. With a low growl, he pounds in hard enough to lift Nikaido’s knees from the futon, and there, the white-hot flash of orgasms builds and explodes, sending waves of heat rushing through Senga’s body as he spills himself within Nikaido. Dimly he hears Nikaido’s hoarse cry as he comes again, convulsing around and beneath Senga as Senga holds him in place.

“ _That was really good_ ,” Nikaido whispers after Senga has pulled out and pulled Nikaido into his arms, leaning up to kiss Senga’s cheek. “ _...gonna pass out now_.” And he promptly does, the small smile on his lips relaxing as he goes limp in Senga’s embrace. Senga looks down and sees the rows of pale pink smudges on his own thighs. He hugs Nikaido closer.

 

*****

 

“What part of Nikaido do you like best,” the girl asks, and the three “Senga’s” are called to answer.

Nikaido stands in the aisle of Theatre Crea, surrounded by fans, and bites his lip against a smile, waiting to see what answers they’ll come up with for the game.

“The back of his thighs!” the first one answers and Nikaido immediately ducks his head, praying that his stage makeup will be enough to hide the intense blush that sets fire to his face. He’s laughing though, and he’s quite sure that no one will ever know exactly why.


End file.
